Under Siege
by cursivenight
Summary: When Oliver Wood thought of his favourite Quiddich team reuniting, he did not think it would be like this. No pairings. Character death. DH compliant. Oneshot.


**Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

**Under Siege**

My best memory at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was winning the Quiddich Cup as Captain of the Gryffindor team in my seventh year.

The team had been superb that year - Harry Potter as seeker; Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet, and Katie Bell as chasers; Fred and George Weasley as beaters; and myself as the keeper. We had always played with everything we had, but due to unusual circumstances (normally concerning Harry Potter) were unable to win the highest Quiddich honour at Hogwarts until my final year there. We finally pulled everything together, avoided mishaps, and won the coveted trophy. I still used that memory to conjure my patronous.

When I thought of that team reuniting - and I had hoped we would do so eventually - I always imagined it happening in a nice little pub, the whole team being present, laughing and talking. There would be references to the twins' pranks, my long speeches and attempts to drown myself in the showers, and that one time Ron Weasley ended up vomiting slugs. We would insult the Slytherins in every way possible, laugh at the Hufflepuffs, and sneer at the Ravenclaws. Drinks would be clinked in toasts, and maybe there would be plans to meet up again.

What I did not imagine was this reunion taking place in a Hogwarts under siege, my players fighting for their lives in a battle against those who were pure evil. There were no smiles, there was no talk of the past, let alone the future. That was probably because few could even comprehend the present.

My young prodigy of a seeker, Harry Potter, was no longer a small, slight, inexperienced first year. Potter was suddenly seventeen and facing off the most terrible wizard the world had ever known. I couldn't bring myself to speak the name, despite the fact half my team was mustering the courage to do so. I didn't like to think it was lack of leadership or anything - I was a Gryffindor after all. Voldemort. There. That was that horrific _thing_ that called himself the Dark Lord.

Just thinking the word made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I remembered being a very small lad and hearing whispers of "He Who Must Not Be Named" and the horrible acts he committed. I remembered my parents being frightened, while telling me that everything was alright. It was terrifying that the same atrocities that had happened then were happening now.

I glanced around the massively damaged Great Hall, searching for Harry Potter. I found him quickly, standing off to the side of everyone. He still looked the same to me, with his messy black hair, striking green eyes, round glasses, and of course that lightning bolt scar. Yet he appeared much older than his seventeen years, and he was very tired. He seemed to be holding a burden on his shoulders, and I would bet my life it wasn't about what House would win the Quiddich Cup this year.

And here I had thought being a professional Quiddich player could be tough. I guess circumstances sure throw your perspective.

Next, I searched the crowded room for my chasers. I spotted Katie Bell fluttering over a group of mostly students sitting down on the floor, looking upset and in some amount of pain. I guessed they were injured. Katie was muttering some spells and seemed to comfort those she spoke to. She looked stressed, but I saw the determination and grit she had used on the Quiddich pitch was being used to her advantage now. I admired her calm focus, especially in the face of such danger and uncertainty.

Turning around, I sought out my two older chasers, Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet. I was sure they'd be together, being best friends. It took me some time to find them, but I finally did. They were standing somewhat near to where Potter had been earlier. I grew worried as I saw Angelina sobbing into Alicia's shoulder, who also appeared to be crying.

I had never once seen either of them cry in all the years I had known them - not even through Quiddich injuries. I frowned and started walking towards them, swerving to avoid the clusters of people.

As I got closer, I could see more of their surroundings.

That's when my eyes fell onto my beaters, Fred and George Weasley. Except that now there was only George. Fred lay on a conjured bed, half covered in a blanket. What appeared to be his family (they were all gingers) surrounded him. I stopped walking, unable to tear my eyes away from the sight before me.

Fred would never again laugh as he threatened to knock a bludger into his old captain if I lectured them one more time about their games at Hogwarts. Never again would I see him and George exchange that infamous mischievous grin.

I started violently as I felt someone touching me. It was Angelina and Alicia, hooking there arms into mine, leaning on my shoulders for support. I pulled them closer, realizing suddenly that I was crying, just as the two girls were. Katie approached, sobbed, and was immediately pulled into our little circle beside Alicia.

We stood there for what felt like hours. George looked up at us once, his eyes full of nothing, but he nodded at us. I nodded back, unable to say anything. The girls cried harder.

Tearing my gaze away from Fred's body, I looked around the Great Hall. It was crowded, with many people milling about, treating injuries, tending to the dead. There was rubble everywhere. It was hard to imagine this was the place I had sat only a few years ago to eat, write exams, hastily finish homework...

How could this place, usually so full of life and happiness, be one of death and destruction?

Abruptly, I realized I should do something more than stand here and try to come to grips with what was going on. There would be no coming to terms with what was happening, at least not tonight, and maybe not ever. But for now, we had to survive, we had to help our team, and we had to do whatever we could to aid our seeker in catching whatever his metaphorical snitch may be.

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><p><strong>AN:<strong> Just something that wouldn't leave my head. I advise you to go read Molly Raesly's Skirting Around A Scot if you want more Oliver Wood. And I know everyone does.


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